The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1065 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

I waited in casualty, while the medics gave me funny looks after I explained what had happened to my foster child.

“Let me get this straight, this girl isn’t a girl, but a boy who lives as a girl and has been kidnapped and buggered by the kidnapper, who’s a known drug user?”

“Mostly right, except Julie isn’t a boy, she’s transitioning to female and is doing her real life test.”

“So she’s a transsexual?”

“Yes, you have a problem with that?”

“Obviously you don’t,” said the doctor.

“Why should I?”

“Well, was she held to ransom, or is she just gay and selling you a line.”

“As I was carrying a quarter of a million pounds about to get her back earlier this evening, and half the Hampshire Constabulary were hunting for her–I don’t think she was telling me fibs. Please examine her and do whatever tests you have to do to make sure he hasn’t given her any nasty diseases.”

He actually did so and returned about half an hour later. “Her rectum has received quite a savage assault, I’m sorry that I doubted you before. I’ve called in a surgeon to check her out, she may need to stay overnight. I’ve started her on retrovirals, so hopefully that should help prevent HIV, and we’re running tests for Hepatitis A, B and C.”

“Okay, thanks for that.”

“Did you know that three men assaulted her?”

“Three? No, I didn’t.”

“If we could get any health records from them, it would help.”

“They’re all in custody, I’ll see what I can do.”

I tried in vain to get to speak to someone who could help from the police, either they couldn’t help or weren’t senior enough, couldn’t divulge confidential information even if they knew it. I left threatening law suits and called Henry.

While the political flavour of ministers and Secretaries of State changes, the civil service don’t. Henry knows several at the top end and within half an hour of speaking with him the hospital had a print out of the health records of all of the three prisoners.

The doctor was hopeful that the drugs would protect her, and the surgeon wanted to try and do a repair the next day–she was quite badly torn apparently. I couldn’t understand why she wasn’t complaining about it more than she had, maybe she’s tougher than I thought.

I went and sat with her. “Why didn’t you tell me about this assault?”

“You didn’t ask.”

“No I didn’t because it came as something of a shock to me. Now tell me the real reason.”

“I was ashamed, Mummy.”

“Why should you be ashamed? You were the innocent party, weren’t you?”

She sobbed and nodded.

“Did it hurt?”

She nodded, “Like buggery,” she added and smirked.

I snorted, and squeezed her hand.

“Did you enjoy it?”

That broke the dam, apparently part of her did. She saw it as confirmation of her attractiveness to men, except it hurt more than she thought it would and then some. It also was more prolonged than she thought and when the other two joined the assault she tried to dissociate from her body. Now it was hurting like hell, even though they’d packed it with dressings and antiseptics.

Tomorrow, according to the surgeon, they were going to do a bowel wash and then he was hoping to be able to repair the worst of the tears. She was understandably anxious.

She was partly disgusted because she had agreed to do it, I reminded her why–to save her younger sister. I did wonder if part of her was curious about being penetrated to feel some sort of vindication of her gender belief. It was going to be a job for Stephanie, all I could do was be supportive and protective. Vindictive would happen later.

I wasn’t to know it, but apparently on remand a few days later, when it got out what the three abductors had done, Donny Baker had a mishap with some hot water, he managed to drop quite a lot of it in his groin–did I mention it was very hot, like boiling. There were stories that the doctors had to amputate his dangly bits, but they might have been simply stories. I suspect the blue light wouldn’t have helped too much had I been near, probably because I would have refused to let it.

I got Julie home the next day, she was quite dopey and slept most of the time. She had to be on a residue free diet for a couple of days and then eased back into a normal diet plus the use of mild laxatives to avoid straining.

I’d love to say she was an exemplary patient, but she wasn’t–she was in pain and she let us know about it. She reckoned it hurt more after the repairs than it had before. I took her back for a check up and the surgeon was very pleased with the results so far, so he said to me. Julie however, gave him a piece of her mind to go with the piece of her arse, he already had.

The salt baths helped and brought back memories of my SRS, that and the non-residue diet. I hoped she would cope better with that if and when it happened. She still had nearly six months to go of her life test.

The other children were, as expected, very supportive of their big sister whom they revered as a heroine, Billie was especially attentive, fetching and carrying like a personal slave and that was despite me telling her not to. I suppose she felt guilty.

We decided to let the others know what had happened to her. The younger ones thought it was dreadful if not impossible, Trish nearly went into convulsions over it trying to work out how it could happen–it seemed not to compute in her map of the world and she got quite worked up at one point.

“Is that what you do with Daddy?” she asked me when we were on our own.

“No it isn’t, but we do have penetrative sex sometimes.”

“What does he do?” she looked completely baffled.

“He comes inside me, in my vagina in the same way that most men and women have intercourse.”

“Doesn’t it hurt?” she looked a bit disappointed.

“Sometimes.”

“I don’t think I’ll be doing that–too gross.”

“It can be something beautiful as well, Trish.”

“Ugh! I don’t think so.”

“Not too many years ago, I’d have agreed with you, but these days I can see something more in it and it can also be very pleasurable.”

“You said it hurts, Mummy.”

“Not always, and I’m doing something very personal for Daddy, which I know he loves.”

“He wees in your wotsit and you enjoy it?”

“No he doesn’t wee, he produces special fluids, which if I were fertile could combine with eggs to produce babies.”

“You said he sticks his willie inside you–willies are for weeing through.”

“Not only for weeing, Trish.” Oh boy, how do I get these jobs? I got the laptop out and we called up a few sites on the internet and she eventually got the idea. She still thought it was gross, but then at her age, I had no idea it went on. When I did eventually find out what happened and who put what, where–I thought it was pretty gross, my contemporaries thought I was probably gay, so I didn’t discuss it much with them. My puberty seemed to be delayed anyway and I only recalled my first orgasm because it was so unusual happening in Simon’s car while he was standing outside it and that cheeky mechanic kissed me and it happened spontaneously. Not exactly how I expected things to be, but until then, I considered myself asexual–I think I’m quite happy I got that diagnosis wrong.

Trish might well consider herself as I did myself, but if I’m honest, I hope she’s wrong and is able to find someone she loves and who loves her and that they can have some sort of physical relationship–it is important for most people.